


Blue Collar

by chiiyo86



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Gen, Heist, Mental Health Issues, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-14
Updated: 2012-06-14
Packaged: 2017-11-07 17:37:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiiyo86/pseuds/chiiyo86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU/fusion with White Collar. Sam Wesson is a FBI agent working for the White Collar Crime Unit in NYC. Dean Winchester is an art thief and a forger. As far as everyone knows, the only link between them is that Wesson arrested Winchester two years ago and sent him to prison – what they don’t know, is that Sam Wesson’s real name is Winchester. And now, Sam and Dean are going to have to work together to stop a bank robber nicknamed “the Dutchman.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Collar

**Author's Note:**

> Written for spn_summergen for prompts by faithburke (you will find the prompts I was inspired by at the end of the fic.) After almost a year I finally got around posting it here! You don’t need to know White Collar to understand the story, but there are spoilers for the pilot and the episode “Withdrawal” (2.01), from which I borrowed. There are no spoilers for Supernatural beyond the pilot. Thank you to wave_obscura and briarwood for the beta!

“Dean Winchester. Convicted for bond forgery, but suspected of counterfeiting, security fraud, and art theft.” Turner joined his hands on his desk, a stern look on his face. “And this is the man you want to let loose, Wesson?”

Sam took a deep breath. He’d anticipated this, had his argument all prepared. The trick was just to sound confident and reasonable and not like anything important was hanging in the balance.

“There’s precedent, sir. Winchester would be released in my custody.” He paused. “Or whoever else you think fit. We would keep a leash on him with a GPS tracking anklet. The new ones have never failed.”

“There’s always a first time. You know better than anyone what Winchester is capable of. This is a big risk.”

“Winchester isn’t dangerous, sir. He’s never hurt anyone.”

Turner scoffed. “Oh, I’m not worried about him being a danger to people’s _physical_ integrity.”

Sam lowered his head; point taken, but he wasn’t going to give up now.

“He can help us. If the business cards he sent are to be trusted, the Dutchman is going to rob a bank in New York. He’s been eluding the FBI for months now, he’s making us look like fools and he’s taunting us by sending warnings in advance.”

Turner’s lips tightened and his brow furrowed. He didn’t like hearing these unpleasant facts; Sam was making his point. Sam forced his voice to stay even, not wanting to jeopardize this by sounding too eager. 

“The Dutchman is a very intelligent, very arrogant person. Winchester is the same type of criminal, he played us,” Sam let out a sigh, “-- with me -- for years. He will give us a new point of view on this case.”

Turner remained silent for a long moment, and Sam held out his breath, his heart pounding loudly with hope. He couldn’t believe that he’d had the guts to do this, to present this insane plan to his boss and that maybe, just maybe, it was going to work.

“Sam,” Turner said.

Sam’s stomach tightened at the sound of his first name; it was unusual for Turner to use it, and Sam couldn’t figure whether it was a good or a bad sign.

“Yes, sir?”

“I have to say I’m confused. You spent three years trying to put this man in prison, and now you’re trying to get him out?”

“He wouldn’t really be out. He would be under our surveillance.”

“I remember when you were tracking him, how obsessed you were with getting him. Sam, are you really sure you know what you’re doing?”

The answer to that question? No, not really, but Sam couldn’t say that, couldn’t explain exactly what was at stake here. Not if he wanted to keep his job and stay out of prison himself.

“Yes, sir. I’m sure.”

Turner studied him attentively, then his mouth twisted.

“Alright, then. You have my permission.” He frowned and raised a finger. “But don’t screw this up, Wesson. I’ll have my eyes on you and on Winchester. If anything goes wrong, you’ll go down with him. He’s your responsibility. Understood?”

Sam nodded without a word. The only thing he could think about was how his life was never going to be the same again.

\---

“Honey?”

Sam found Jess in the living room – she was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a glass of wine in her hand, looking down on the papers scattered in front of her. Sam took the time to admire the line of her neck, the way her loose t-shirt exposed her shoulder.

“Is there something wrong with our tables and chairs?” he said.

She raised her head, smiled.

“Hey, babe. You’re late.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

He leaned forward and she strained her neck so they could kiss.

“Your dinner’s keeping warm in the oven,” Jess said.

“Okay, I’ll eat later.” Sam sat on the floor besides his wife. “What you doing?”

“Grading midterms.” She gestured at the papers. “This way I can keep track of how I grade. More room on the floor. How was your day?”

“It was okay.” He dropped a kiss on her ear, then another one lower on her neck and she laughed when it tickled. “Turner approved my project.”

“Your project?”

“You know, the one where we would use Dean Winchester on the Dutchman’s case.”

“Oh.” She pressed a firm hand on his head to stop his kisses, and twisted her neck to look at him. “I didn’t know you were going through with this.”

Under her gaze, he felt himself grow nervous, knew that he had to make his confession now because he would never be so brave again. He wished he could go back to giving her kisses, lull her in comfort and familiar affection but she wouldn’t be that easily fooled, would see it for the distraction it was.

“I told Turner about it today. He agreed.” He licked his lips. “Jess, I have to tell you something.”

She arched an eyebrow, started smiling like she wanted to laugh and diffuse the gravity of the moment, but couldn’t quite make herself do it.

“I’m all ears,” she said. 

“I, uh,” He chuckled nervously, rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Where do I start?”

“Sam, you’re making me nervous. You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know, baby, and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Jess had completely lost her smile now, and her brow was furrowed. Sam had to turn his head because he couldn’t look at her and see the betrayal on her face when he dropped the bomb.

“I guess the first thing you have to know is that my last name isn’t really Wesson.”

He heard her inhale sharply, but kept his eyes firmly on the floor. 

“You must be wondering why I changed my name, right?”

“Among other things, yes,” she said, her voice a little strained.

“I was born in Lawrence, Kansas. Not that it matters much, just… I guess that it all began there. My dad, John, was a mechanic, my mom, Mary, was a teacher – just like you. The night I turned six months, she was killed in my nursery, and our house burned down. My dad barely got me and my brother out in time, but he couldn’t save my mom. After her death he started, uh, having delusions, he thought she had been killed by something supernatural, that there were monsters out there and that he had to hunt them. He took us and ran, and never really stopped running because he was convinced something was after our family. So we grew up on the road, more or less.”

Sam risked a look in Jess’ direction – she was frowning, but it looked more confused than angry. 

“It sounds like it was a terrible way to grow up, Sam,” she said slowly, like she was choosing her words with care, “but I’m not sure why it would make you change your name?”

“Because, my dad…” This time he forced himself to look her in the eye. “Jess, my dad, he wasn’t just crazy. He was… he killed people. See, he thought there were monsters everywhere, he thought the people he killed weren’t human, that they were demons, werewolves, vampires.” _Or Wendigos, or strigas, or revenants,_ he thought, but didn’t say anything because he didn’t want to scare her with the things he knew.

Jess breathed in deeply, swallowed. “What happened to your dad? Where is he now?”

“He was arrested. One of his friends, Pastor Jim, finally realized how far gone he was and… My dad got arrested and Pastor Jim took care of us. Now he’s in a mental hospital. But you see, if the FBI had known who I really was, there’s no way I could have gotten this job with a criminally insane father. So I forged myself a new identity.”

“But how? How did you do it? It’s the FBI, they’re not very easily fooled. How did you even know how to do it?”

“I’ve lived a good part of my life off the grid. Let’s just say that, through my dad, I got to know people who could help me with that kind of thing.”

“Oh.”

Sam waited for more, but nothing came. Jess was now hugging her knees. She was worrying her lower lip and not looking at him. Sam’s heart sank.

“Jess?” he said, his voice almost plaintive. “Say something, please. Even if it’s just to yell at me. I deserve it, I know. I’m sorry I lied to you.”

Jess sighed. “I don’t want to yell at you, Sam. It’s just… It’s a lot to take in.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

There was an edge to her voice that effectively silenced Sam. Jess looked about to speak and he held his breath, waiting for what she had to say.

“What I don’t understand is… Why now? We’ve been married for five years. What prompted you to tell me the truth now?”

Sam’s insides twisted. Now it was time for the second part of his confession. 

“Because something’s going to happen, and I can’t lie to you anymore. Dean Winchester is about to come out of prison and…”

“Why does Dean Winchester have anything to do with it?”

“I didn’t tell you my real name.”

Her eyes widened and he could see that she understood. He had to get the words out, though, he hadn’t said them aloud in so long.

“My real name is Sam Winchester. And Dean is my older brother.”

\---

Sam stood by the window and watched his brother raise his arms as the guard patted him down. Dean’s hair was a little longer than the last time Sam had seen him, locks of hair almost reaching his eyes; he was maybe a little thinner too, his cheekbones more prominent, his collar bones more apparent. Dean’s eyes flickered and when he caught sight of Sam, he raised his eyebrows in fake surprise – he had known Sam was coming, of course.

“Hey, Agent Wesson!” he exclaimed. “Thank you, Teddy,” he said when the guard gestured for him to move on.

Dean dropped himself at one of the tables in the little room. His eyes wandered over Sam for a moment, looking him up and down, like he was checking to see if he was healthy, maybe. Sam’s stomach did a painful little twist.

“To what do I owe the pleasure Agent _Wesson_?” Dean said, and smirked, daring Sam with his eyes to remark on the insistent way he had said the name.

The guard was still standing in a corner. Dean knew very well that he couldn’t reveal in any way that they were related, that Sam’s name wasn’t Wesson. Sam was sure – pretty sure – that Dean wouldn’t do anything to put Sam at risk, but he still had to force himself not to glance nervously at the guard.

“I have an offer for you,” Sam said, walked to the table and threw down the file.

“An offer I can’t refuse, I bet,” Dean said, his smile firmly in place, but Sam noticed the curious glance he cast at the file.

“The FBI is having a little problem with a bank robber who calls himself the ‘Dutchman.’ He’s robbed banks in Dallas, Chicago and Boston. Before every job he sent a business card to five different banks in the city with the name ‘the Dutchman’ engraved on it. Within a week, one of those banks’ vaults got emptied. And now the Dutchman’s coming to New York – five banks got the card two days ago.”

“The Dutchman… Like the ghost ship. He vanishes before you can catch him. Nice touch. This guy has a sense of humor. But I don’t see what this has to do with me.”

“We want to stop the Dutchman from doing to New York what he did in Dallas, Chicago and Boston. I suggested to my boss that we could use a little help. A little help from someone who thinks just like the Dutchman.”

Dean lifted an eyebrow. “And this someone would be me? Bank heists aren’t exactly my specialty.”

“Breaking and entering to get your hands on something valuable? Taunting the FBI by sending them hints about you’re going to do?”

“Okay, sounds like a guy after my own heart. But how would this work exactly?” Dean opened his arms. “As you can see, I’m a little locked up here.”

“I know. But my offer would involve you getting out of here.”

Dean gaped at him, mouth open but out of smartass comments, for once, and Sam had to admit it was still satisfying to be able to shut him up. 

“I would be free?” Dean finally asked, and there was such hope in his eyes that it stabbed at Sam’s heart to have to correct him.

“No,” he said, “but for the duration of this case you would be out of here with a GPS tracking anklet. And who knows, if you do good maybe I can convince my superiors to make this arrangement last until your time is served.” Sam pushed the file to Dean. “Have a look, all the details are in there.”

Dean opened the file and started reading in silence. 

“Can I think about it?” he asked after a few minutes.

“Of course, but don’t take too long. My boss is going to want an answer quickly, the clock is ticking.” Sam leaned forward, lowered his voice. “It’s a good deal, Dean. Don’t you want to be outside again?”

“Funny you say that, given that you were the one to put me in there.”

The truth hurts, as they say. Sam opened his mouth to reply, to say that he hadn’t known it was Dean he was chasing, not at first, and that when he had found out he just couldn’t stop. But he was interrupted by a polite cough.

“Good morning.”

Sam turned around to glare at the man standing there in a suit, a suitcase in hand, an impenetrable look on his face. Sam had met him before – Jimmy Novak, aka “Castiel” for some reason Sam had never figured out, an old friend of Dean and his part-time accomplice, part-time lawyer.

“Novak,” Sam said. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said with a smile.

“Hello, Dean.” Novak turned to Sam. “My client required the presence of his lawyer for this interview. Obviously, I’m running a little late.”

“It’s okay, Cas,” Dean said, like there had been an apology somewhere in there. “Sam and I were just talking.”

“Talking about what?”

“Seems like the FBI has a deal for me. They want me to work for them, can you believe that? Imagine me taking a peek at the other side of the fence.”

Novak’s eyes narrowed. “We should talk about it.”

Sam stood up and placed himself before Novak, who had to raise his head a little to look at him in the eye. 

“Try to convince him,” he said. Novak’s eyebrow arched. “Listen, Novak – Castiel, if you want. I know you don’t like what I’m doing, and that you don’t trust me.”

“Only a fool would trust the FBI.”

Dean snorted a laugh, but Sam ignored him.

“Anything would be better than in here, don’t you think? It’s a straightforward deal, I wouldn’t try to trick him. You know I’m…”

“I know.”

Sam turned to Dean. “Let me know what you decide.”

“I will. And Sam?” Sam paused at the serious look on his brother’s face. “Whatever my answer is, I still appreciate the offer.”

Sam nodded, tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Good bye, Dean.”

“Good bye, Sam.”

\---

“Are you sure, sir?”

Sam quelled a twinge of annoyance. It wasn’t the first time Jo had asked him that question, or some variation of it; it wasn’t even the second time, and though Sam knew she was justified in her worry, it still grated on his nerves to hear his judgment questioned.

“I’m sure.”

“You took off his tracking anklet. I thought that what was keeping him from running away.”

“The building is surrounded, he can’t go anywhere. Besides trying to run away wouldn’t be a smart move. I caught him once, he knows I would catch him again and then he would be back to prison for a few more years.”

And he was pretty sure that Dean wouldn’t do anything that would cause problems for Sam, and Dean running away would seriously jeopardize Sam’s career. He was like, 99.99% sure, but he couldn’t explain that to Jo, or to anyone. He hated lying to his team, and guilt mixed with annoyance when Jo gave him a doubtful look, drumming her fingers on the wheel of the car to signify that she wasn’t going to argue, but she was strongly disapproving.

“Hey,” Andy called from the backseat. “I think he’s coming.”

Sam twisted his neck to look through the window, and indeed he saw Dean walking toward them with a suitcase in his hand. He opened the car door on his side just in time to block Dean’s way.

“Going somewhere?”

“Hello to you, Agent Wesson,” Dean said, pronouncing Sam’s borrowed name like it was something delicious, probably because he knew how much it made him nervous.

He started tugging at his tie like it was trying to strangle him, loosening it and popping a button from his dress shirt.

“Ha, feels good to be able to breathe correctly. Fucking monkey suits are the evil of my job.” He nodded at Andy, who beamed at him. “Hello to you too, Agent Gallagher.”

“Man, call me Andy,” Andy said, sounding seconds away from giggling like a school girl. 

From the corner of his eye, Sam caught Jo rolling her eyes. Dean of course noticed it too; very few things escaped him, that was what made him so good at what he did. He smirked and winked at her.

“And hello, Agent Harvelle. You look particularly lovely today.”

Jo’s knuckles whitened as her grip on the wheel tightened.

“Cut the crap, Winchester. Do you have the money?”

“Does that question even need asking?”

He set the suitcase flat and opened it for their eyes.

“Tada!”

This time, it was Sam who rolled his eyes.

“Did you have any trouble getting it?”

“Nah, it was like candy from a baby.” Dean closed the suitcase. “Which I would never do, of course. Where’s the fun in that?”

Sam put his hand on his brother’s as he was going to push the suitcase’s lock. 

“You know you don’t get to keep that, right? Give it to me.”

Dean put on a wounded face, lips pursed and eyebrows knitted together. He looked ridiculous, like he did when he was a kid and was making faces to get a giggle out of Sam. 

“Not even a few bills, Daddy?”

“If you’re a good boy, maybe I’ll let you go to an art gallery to look at the pretty paintings.”

“With you breathing down my neck? That sounds more like torture.”

Sam felt a laugh bubble in his throat, was about to reply with something equally snarky when Jo cleared her throat loudly.

“Should we go now? They’re waiting for us.”

Dean shrugged and climbed in the backseat with Andy, who put the tracker back on his ankle. Sam glanced at Jo but she was watching in her rearview mirror, checking for oncoming cars before she merged into traffic. He felt like he’d just been caught red-handed in the cookie jar, or however that metaphor went. Dean was chatting cheerfully with Andy, who drank in every one of his words. Everything was fine, Sam told himself. He had let the familiarity of banter with Dean get to him, but it was bound to happen. Now he just had to be careful that it didn’t happen too often, and not where people could see. 

The drive to the office was silent, and when they got to the conference room where Turner and several men were waiting for them with stern faces, it was all business again.

“Here he is,” Turner said when Sam entered the room. 

He rested a heavy hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Agent Samuel Wesson, from the White Collar Crime Unit.”

“Isn’t he a little young?” said one of the men, a fat man who was mopping nervously his forehead with a tissue. 

“Agent Wesson is the best, I can assure you. With him on the case there’s a good chance that what happened in Dallas, Chicago and Boston won’t happen to your banks.”

The grip on Sam’s shoulder tightened a little, and Sam heard the message loud and clear – don’t screw this up. Which was alright, because Sam didn’t intend to.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “As you know, Mr. Mark Simons,” Sam paused to give the little man standing at a corner of the conference table time to nod at the room, “who is charge of security for all the Midtown banks requested that we conduct a security test. It was done by our consultant, Dean Winchester.”

Sam stepped back to leave room to Dean.

“Dean Winchester?” said another of the men. “Isn’t he that thief who was arrested a few years ago?”

“That I am, sir,” Dean said, “and that’s why I’m most qualified to poke at the holes in your system. And I’ve found several. Basement, first. I bypassed the metal detectors way too easily. Your employees need to be more vigilant, too, and should _never_ wear their badges clipped to their waists. Around the neck, that’s how you keep naughty fingers from lifting them.” 

He wriggled his own fingers to illustrate his point. Sam glanced at the room and saw they were all watching Dean in silence, whether they were in shock or seriously paying attention to him.

“The pass codes,” Dean continued, “you need to change them daily, not weekly, and…”

The meeting lasted several hours, spent thinking of ways to improve the bank’s security system. When all the bank managers were gone, it was past 9 pm.

“Thank you, guys,” Sam told Jo and Andy, who said their goodbyes and left.

“Good job, Wesson,” Turner said. He studied Dean for a moment before adding, “You too, Winchester.”

“Oh, uh, thank you, sir.”

Dean watched Turner’s back as he walked away.

“I think your boss’s starting to like me,” he said.

“As long as he’s not sending you back to prison for breathing wrong, we should be grateful.” Sam glanced at his watch. “Shit, Jess is going to kill me.”

“Dude, don’t tell me you never had to pull a late night when you were after me.”

“Doesn’t mean she has to like it. And for your information, I’ve worked on other cases besides yours over the years.” Dean yawned and rubbed his face warily, and Sam felt something ease in his chest. “Need a ride home?” he asked.

“Thanks, but Castiel’s picking me up.”

“This guy is weird. I know he’s your friend but he gives me the creeps, to be honest.”

“Well, I’d rather live with him than in whatever shitty motel the FBI would graciously purchase for me. And he’s not so bad, once you get used to the intense staring.”

“Just give him a call, tell me I’m driving you back.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Afraid I’m gonna run away, Agent Wesson?”

“Don’t be an ass, Dean.”

“Just trying to play the part, Sammy.”

Sam couldn’t help but glance around to check that they were alone. Dean gave him a knowing look, and Sam sighed. 

“Yeah, sure. Let’s go, my wife is gonna be waiting for me.”

“Okay.” Dean clapped on Sam’s shoulder. “I would feel bad if I made your wife mad at you on my first day.” 

“Don’t forget to call your boyfriend so he doesn’t come here and spend the night waiting for you.”

“Oh, you’re hilarious.”

“I try. Also, what the hell is that nickname, Castiel?”

“That? Hmm, that’s a very long story…”

\---

Sam knocked on the door, and waited for it to open. He waited for a long time, until it was obvious that no one was going to answer. Sam sighed, reluctant to go now that he had finally worked up the nerve to come here. Where could Dean be anyway? He wasn’t in prison anymore, but he could only travel within a two miles radius around their office, and even if it was Manhattan, that didn’t give him that many places to go. On the other hand, it was Dean they were talking about. He always found something, even if it was trouble.

Sam was turning to go when the door opened, but it wasn’t Dean behind it.

“Uh, hey,” Sam said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Agent Wesson,” Novak – or Castiel, whatever – said. 

For some reason it felt weird to hear him use that name, even if that was what everyone had been calling Sam for six years. Maybe it was because Castiel knew Dean and he were brothers, maybe it was because Sam could feel the judgment behind those blue eyes.

“Call me Sam,” he said.

“Sam.” There was a long, awkward pause. “You came to see Dean, I presume. He’s not here.”

“Isn’t he? Where is he?”

“He left about one hour ago.”

“Okay. And where did he go?”

“I don’t know.”

Castiel didn’t seem willing to share any more information. Sam prided himself in being good at reading people, but it was hard to say whether Castiel wasn’t saying anything else because he honestly didn’t know or because he didn’t trust Sam enough to tell him. _I’m his brother_ , Sam wanted to protest. _He doesn’t need protection from me_. But then, from Castiel’s point of view, Sam putting Dean in prison probably didn’t make him look very trustworthy.

Sam tilted his head to try to see behind Castiel, but he couldn’t see more than the corner of a table with some papers on it. They looked like drawings.

“Are they Dean’s?” he asked. At Castiel’s questioning eyebrow, Sam pointed to the table. 

“Yes, Dean did them.”

Sam had a flash of Dean lying flat on his belly in the room they shared, one of those interchangeable motel rooms, his tongue sticking out, so focused on his drawing that he couldn’t hear Sam call him. For their whole childhood it seemed like Dean had been drawing on some surface – walls, tables, dinner napkins, envelopes, the margins of his homework, or Sam’s. Sam still didn’t know exactly when it had translated in Dean becoming a well-known forger. 

“Can I see them? I haven’t seen one of Dean’s drawings in a long time.”

Sam didn’t really expect Castiel to agree, so he was taken aback when the man nodded and went back inside to grab the drawings. When he handed him the papers, Sam suddenly felt shy, like he shouldn’t be allowed to see them. 

“I don’t know, maybe…”

“Dean wouldn’t mind,” Castiel said. “You know how he likes to show off.”

Sam couldn’t help a smile, and he could have sworn that the corner of Castiel’s mouth had turned up ever so slightly. Sam cleared his throat and looked down at the drawings. They were portraits, all of men that Sam didn’t know, some men with moustaches, some with beards and tattoos, all with grotesque expressions on their faces, like Dean had tried to make them look as ridiculous as possible. Only the collars of their clothes were visible, but Sam recognized the guardian uniform and the prisoner overall from the prison where Dean had been detained. He swallowed, and handed the drawings back to Castiel.

“So you have no idea where Dean has gone?”

“No. But you do. Doesn’t he wear a GPS tracking anklet?”

Oh, of course. Castiel didn’t even smile or look mocking, but Sam still felt the weight of his stare, like Castiel was doubting Sam’s intellectual capacities.

“Well, sorry to have bothered you.”

“Good night, Sam.”

“Good night, um, Castiel.”

As soon as the door had closed, Sam reached in his pocket for his phone, but it started ringing before he could touch it. 

“Wesson.”

“Boss, is Winchester with you?” It was Andy’s voice.

“No.” Sam looked around him for good measure, like maybe Dean was hiding in a dark corner. “He’s not with me. Why?”

“Well, he left his perimeter. And, uh, according to the GPS, he’s at your house.”

Sam had been walking to his car but the words stopped him.

“What?”

“That’s what his tracking GPS thingie says. He’s at your place.”

So while Sam was looking for him and having an awkward conversation with his weird roommate, Dean was simply waiting for him at the house? Sam felt a quick surge of anger – this was so like Dean, never where you expected him to be, and it pissed him off as much now as it did when they were younger. And yes, Sam had come to invite him for dinner with him and Jess, but that wasn’t the same as Dean leaving the _fucking perimeter_ on his own and risking being sent back to prison. 

“Boss? Do you want me to send someone to check?”

“No, I’ll check. It’s my house, after all.”

“Do you think Jess is in danger?”

“No.” Of that, Sam was sure. “Don’t worry, Andy, I’m handling it.”

“Okay, boss. See you tomorrow, then.”

Sam hung up and thrust the phone angrily in his pocket. If Dean thought he could get away with that kind of stunt, he was mistaken.

\---

Sam didn’t know what he had expected to see when he came home, but it wasn’t his wife and his brother chatting amicably in his living room with glasses of wine.

“Oh, honey,” Jess said when she saw him come in. “Look, your brother has come to visit us. Isn’t that nice?”

“Yeah, nice.”

She was smiling brightly at him, but he knew her and she wasn’t that dense. She was perfectly aware that Dean couldn’t come and go as he pleased. He wasn’t sure whether she was trying to piss him off or diffuse the situation.

“Dean? Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure.” Dean put his glass of wine down on the table. “Shoot.”

“In the kitchen. Please.”

Dean glanced at Jess, like he was asking for her fucking permission or something. She smiled at him.

“Go talk to your brother, Dean. I’ll pour you some more wine.”

“Thank you, Jess.”

Sam’s jaws clenched. How long had Dean been here to be such buddies with his wife? Unless they had decided to team up to get on his nerves, which he wouldn’t put passed either of them – and Jess was still raw about having been lied to for years, even though she said she forgave him. For the first time, seeing Dean and Jess together like that, Sam noticed how similar his wife and his brother were, which was a bit disturbing.

Dean took his time walking to him, and Sam grabbed his arm as soon as he was in reach to drag him to the kitchen.

“Hey! Careful with the merchandise, bro.”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Me?” Dean’s eyes widened, and the manufactured innocence only served to anger Sam even more. “I’m just paying a visit to my sister-in-law. It was more than time that we met each other. She’s way out of your league, by the way.”

“You’re out of your perimeter! You could be sent back to prison!”

“Come on, Sam, don’t be a drama queen. You can see where I go with your GPS thing, right? You could see I was at your house, so it’s not like I was trying to run away. Besides, it’s not like there was any other way for me to see your home.”

There was the slightest trace of bitterness in Dean’s voice, and Sam felt his anger deflate. 

“Dean. I just came back from your place. I was going to invite you for dinner tonight.”

“Oh.” Dean’s mouth stayed open in an ‘o’ for a few seconds, before he found his words again. “Well, thanks. Uh, am I still invited?”

“Seeing how you totally charmed my wife I don’t think I can send you back home, now.”

Dean smirked. “What can I say? The ladies love me.”

Sam punched him in the arm.

“Boys,” Jess called from the living room, “if you’ve finished bonding, can we start dinner? I’m starving.”

Sam was starving too, and Dean, well Dean never said no to food. Jess had made a salad, some mashed potatoes and roasted beef. Dean entertained them with stories of some his most elaborate heists.

“Of course, all this is just in theory,” he said. “Things, you know, that I could have done.”

Jess sent Sam a confused look.

“Dean hasn’t been convicted for these,” Sam said. 

“Oh, okay, got it.” Jess took a sip from her glass. “So, Dean, you’re the first person I can ask this: what was Sam like as a kid?”

Sam tightened his grip on his knife. He glanced at Dean and their eyes locked over the table.

“Sam? He was a dorky kid,” Dean said, “but you probably know him well enough by now to have guessed that. When he was seven, he was convinced that he was a selkie.”

“A what?”

“It’s a shapeshifting creature, a seal that can shed its skin and become human. So he spent a lot of time in bathtubs and pools when he could find one. He would take a blanket with him and wrap himself in it – it was supposed to be his seal skin so that he could shed it when he got out of the water.” Jess was giggling behind her hand, and it encouraged Dean. “Also, you could never talk to him when he was in ‘seal’ form because duh, seals can’t speak.”

As the heat flushed Sam’s cheeks, Dean continued to delight Jess with stories of Sam’s selkie period, before moving on to other stories of Sam’s imaginary friend, or the time he thought all dogs were werewolves and wouldn’t go anywhere without the silver medal Pastor Jim had given him. Jess laughed until she choked on her water. Sam rubbed circles on her back.

“That will teach you to laugh at your husband,” he said.

“Aw, baby, don’t be mad. You were just as adorable as I imagined. And very imaginative too – where did you get all those ideas?”

“Oh, from Dad’s books, mostly,” Dean said.

Sam felt the atmosphere immediately freeze. The subject of their father had been avoided until now, but seeing how Jess paled, she obviously remembered what Sam had told her about him. Sam felt like something heavy was weighing on his chest and keeping him from breathing normally.

“Huh.” Dean’s fingers were playing with his napkin. He looked at Jess. “I take it that Sam told you about our dad.”

“Uh, yes.” For the first time she looked embarrassed, was avoiding looking at either of them. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be,” Dean said. “It is what it is. He’s still our Dad, even if Sammy would like to pretend he’s not.”

Sam raised sharply his head. “What exactly do you mean by that?” 

“Changing your name, for starters. And I bet you’ve never been to visit him during all these years. You know he asks for you? Or at least he did the last time I was able to go see him.”

Sam felt something sharp and burning in his guts, but he didn’t know whether it was guilt or anger. Anger was easier to handle, though, always had been.

“Is it that ridiculous that I don’t want to talk about how our father is a murderer? That I want to move on with my life? I’m doing what I can, man, we got dealt a shitty hand. I don’t understand how you can pretend it wasn’t such a big deal.”

“He’s sick, Sam, it’s not his fault. He did the best he could with what he thought were the circumstances.” Dean pushed himself away from the table. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

He stood up; Jess did the same and gave him a hug. He squeezed her shoulder and gave her a strained smile.

“Thanks for dinner, Jess,” he said. “It was nice meeting you.”

After he left, Sam and Jess cleared the table in silence. Jess rinsed the plates while Sam filled the dishwasher. 

“I’m sorry,” Jess said suddenly.

Sam straightened up.

“For what?”

“For asking questions about your childhood. I should have known better than to touch on that subject after what you told me. I just, I wanted to know more about you.”

“It’s okay.” He took a step to get closer to her, put a hand on the back of her neck and started playing with her hair. “What did you think of my brother?”

“He’s a very charming man.”

Sam chuckled. “He likes to think he is. He told me you were out of my league.”

“Well, we both already knew that.”

They exchanged an easy smile.

“He also loves you very much,” Jess said.

“Oh, really?” Sam turned to get some other plates and silvery from the sink. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“The way he talks about you as a kid. The way he looks at you, he seemed so happy to just be at a table with you. We should invite him again. I promise to avoid any touchy subjects.”

“Hmm, yeah, we’ll see.”

He bent over the dishwasher so Jess couldn’t see the expression on his face. He blinked a few times to ease the burn in his eyes.

\---

The next morning, Sam found Dean in the conference room, his head bent over an open book of some paintings. Several other books were piled up around him. He was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, the kind of clothes he always wore when they were younger – the kind of clothes their dad wore – and Sam would have frowned at the infraction to the dress code, but he thought about their fight, and couldn’t comment on it.

“Hey,” he said.

Dean raised his head, smiled a little too wide. “Hey there, Agent Wesson.”

Sam lowered his head, bit his lip. He was starting to hate his borrowed name.

“I think I have something,” Dean said before Sam could say anything. “I talked with Cas last night about the Dutchman’s card.”

Business it was, then. Sam sat at the table, threw a look at the book Dean was reading. Looked like it was about Russian painting.

“Yeah?”

“The font used for the ‘D,’ we thought there is something Cyrillic about it.”

“Yeah, but we already caught on that. Our guy being Russian doesn’t really help us.”

“Ah, but see,” Dean raised a finger, “I don’t think he’s anymore Russian than we are. Just a fan of Russian contemporary painting.”

He turned the book he was reading to face Sam. There was a colorful painting on the page, a dark-headed woman lying on the grass, animals and children and balloons surrounding her.

“What am I looking at?” Sam asked.

“Look at the signature. Vladimir Dubossarky. Look at the D.”

Sam leaned forward, narrowed his eyes. Dean pushed one of the Dutchman’s business card next to the painting.

“They’re the same,” Sam said. 

“Exactly!” Dean folded his arms on his chest, looking triumphant. “And _that_ narrows it down a little.”

“We need to find everyone who has bid on Dubossarkys for the past two years. Um, that’s maybe still a long list but if we cross referenced with people with a business connection the cities that were robbed by the Dutchman…”

“Done, and done,” Dean said.

He was looking at somewhere over Sam’s head, so Sam turned to see Jo enter the room with a file in her hands.

“I have the info you needed,” she said. She was talking to Dean, and Sam looked from her to his brother in surprise. “Good morning, sir.”

“Hey, Jo. So, I take it you two get along, now.”

Jo frowned. “He had a lead. I’m just doing my job.”

“Uh, okay. What did you find?”

“Well, after cross referencing, the list shortened considerably.” She opened the file. “Look at that.”

Sam and Dean both leaned in to look at the paper she was holding.

“Bela Talbot,” Dean read out loud. “Huh. Look like our Dutchman is a woman.”

“We should have a conversation with her,” Sam said.

Dean nodded and stood up, took off the leather jacket that was hanging on the back of his chair. Sam’s inside knotted at the sight of this jacket – it had been their dad’s. He met Dean’s eyes, but with Jo still with them in the room he couldn’t say anything. It was only once they were alone together in the elevator that he finally opened his mouth.

“About yesterday…”

“Forget it,” Dean said, not looking at him. 

“Forget what? Look, we don’t agree about Dad, we never have and we probably never will. But I didn’t invite you over to fight, so I’m sorry I got worked up.”

Dean sighed, rubbed his nose. “Yeah, I guess I shouldn’t have baited you like I did either. It’s not just about Dad, though.”

“What then? Is it the name change? You know why I did it, it’s not about being ashamed of our family.”

“Yeah, I know, the FBI. But can you honestly say that it’s just because of your job? That you’d have no problem talking about our family otherwise?”

Dean was looking at him, serious in a way he rarely was, and Sam didn’t know what to say to him. He didn’t have to say anything, though. A ring, and the elevator came to a stop. The doors slid open, and two people came in.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Sam said.

Dean snorted and shook his head. 

\---

“Miss Talbot will be here in a minute.” 

Dean smiled at the young woman, whose pale skin turned red before she hurried out of the room. Sam gave him a look.

“What?” Dean said. “She’s cute. I didn’t do more than smile. Not my fault if I’m irresistible.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” Sam said, but his brother’s attention was already elsewhere.

He was standing in front of one of the paintings on the wall. The style looked familiar to Sam.

“Is it a Dubossarky?” he asked.

Dean nodded. “There’s another one over there,” he said, pointing to the opposite wall. He laughed. “She’s making it so obvious, I doubt the Cyrillic font was anything but intentional. After all, what does it prove?”

“Yeah, sounds like someone I know.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You’re the guy who signed the bonds you counterfeited.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dean’s eyes didn’t move from the painting but the corner of his mouth curved up. “What I _do_ know, however, is that this painting is a forgery.”

“You sure? Okay, stupid question, of course you’re sure. She has the money to buy a real one, why would she have a forgery? Unless she doesn’t know.”

“Maybe she’s the forger.”

“Gentlemen?”

Sam and Dean spun around in a synchronized motion. The elegant young woman had a slight smile, like she enjoyed taking them by surprise.

“We were just admiring your collection. Miss Talbot, I presume?” Sam held out his hand for her to shake. Her grip was firm, and she looked at him straight in the eye. “Agent Wesson. This is my consultant, Dean Winchester.”

Bela Talbot looked at Dean with open curiosity and maybe some interest, her eyes detailing him until they fell on the bulge at his ankle.

“And what is that, Mr. Winchester?” She had a British accent. “You just made me curious about what exactly is your area of expertise. Nothing legal, I assume.”

“Oh, legal is a matter of point of view.”

She laughed. “I’m not sure Agent Wesson would agree.” She caught Dean glancing at the forged painting. “Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful. Dubossarky, right?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“I’ve heard that you like Dubossarky a lot, Miss Talbot,” Sam said, trying to take back control of the conversation.

“I do like Russian contemporary art,” she said. “I wasn’t aware this was a crime, though.”

“Oh, it isn’t. I was merely making conversation before we had to get onto more unpleasant matters.”

“This is very nice of you, Agent Wesson, but I’m not one to beat around the bush. What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Where were you on April 6th?”

“Well, I’m a very busy woman, so I can’t really tell you that off the top of my head.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to, but I’m sure someone keep track of that.” Sam’s eyes flickered to the corner of the room, where the young woman who had blushed at a smile of Dean had been standing during the whole conversation. “Your assistant, maybe?”

Bela didn’t turn. “Rose? Can you check?”

Rose immediately started to push buttons on her phone, but as she opened her mouth Bela stopped her with a raised hand.

“Don’t say anything. Agent Wesson will need a warrant for this information.” Her smile widened. “Agent Wesson, I’m sure it won’t be a problem if you have compelling evidence. If you don’t, then I’m not sure what you’re doing here.”

“Very well,” Sam said. 

He hadn’t expected much from the visit, but he had to admit that her smile grated. She knew what he thought and she was obviously delighted in the knowledge that there wasn’t anything that he could do about it. 

“Let me show you to the door,” she said.

“We’ll find our way out.”

Sam nodded politely at Rose, who diverted her eyes. Once they were in the street Sam let his frustration come out.

“It’s her, that’s obvious. Did you see her smile? She didn’t even ask why I wanted to know where she was. She knows I know and she fucking gets off on it. Why does she even have to rob banks? It’s not like she needs the money.”

“Dude, I forgot how much of a bitch you are when you don’t get what you want.”

“Come on, man, doesn’t she piss you off? Even just a little?”

“Oh, yeah, she’s one smug bitch, no argument there. But you have to admit that she has style.”

“Dean, she’s a criminal.”

“Yeah, and who are you talking to? Or did you forget the fucking thing attached to my ankle?”

That was a sobering thought. Sam felt Dean put his hand on his shoulder to pull him to a stop.

“Sammy, don’t sweat it. You’re gonna get her, I know you will. You got me, didn’t you?”

Sam rolled his eyes, smiling a little. “Yeah, you’re not conceited at all.”

“Hey, Winchesters are awesome, that’s all there is to it. You will get her in handcuffs and it will feel almost as good as when you did it to me.”

Sam’s smile vanished. “It didn’t feel good at all when I did it to you.”

For a moment, all they did was to look at each other while passers-by walked hurriedly around them. Dean cleared his throat.

“Well, that’s good to know.”

“Yeah. Um. I have to go back to the office, we need to get flight records to see whether she went to Dallas, Chicago or Boston the days of the robberies.”

“That sounds exciting. Mind if I come back later? I’m supposed to have lunch with Cas and I’m starving.”

“As long as it’s in your perimeter then no problem. You need a ride?”

“I’ll take the subway.” Dean patted his shoulder. “Alright. See you later, then.”

\---

“Hey, Sam!”

Sam stopped walking and turned around, surprised by his brother’s voice. Since he’d been out of prison, Dean hadn’t called him by his first name where people who didn’t know they were related could hear.

“Dean? Back from your lunch already?”

Dean caught up with him in a few strides, took him by the elbow and lowered his voice.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” He had a quick look around. “Like, privately?”

“What, why?” Sam grabbed his brother’s shoulder. “Dean, what did you do?”

“Not here, please.”

Sam gritted his teeth, forced himself to remain calm. Whatever this was, he could deal with it.

“Let’s go to my office,” he said, his voice strained.

Sam generally kept his office door half-open, but he carefully closed it behind him once they were in.

“Okay,” he said. He went to sit behind his desk. Call him petty, but he felt a need to assert his authority right now. “What did you want to tell me?”

“Well.” Dean thrust his hands in his jeans pockets. “You have to promise not to get mad.”

“I’m not going to get mad. Spill it.”

“You sound mad already.”

“Jesus, Dean, are you five or what? Just tell me.”

“Okay. Let’s say, hypothetically, that I randomly ran into Bela Talbot’s lovely assistant.”

“Rose?”

“Yes, the cute brunette. And then, still hypothetically, let’s say that we chatted for a while – she’s an Aquarius too, by the way, and she loves long walks on the beach – and that she handed me her phone and let me make a copy of the SIM card.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “She _let_ you?”

The corner of Dean’s mouth went up. 

“Since this is an hypothetical scenario we could say that I took it from her purse while she was in the bathroom. And now I hypothetically know where Miss Talbot was during the robberies, but also where she’ll be this whole week. Including an area where one of the targeted banks is situated.”

“Alright.” Sam closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “So you stole this girl’s phone.”

“Hey, stealing is kinda what I do. What you do is catch the bad guys – for once this works for you.”

“Dean.” Sam breathed deeply. “You can’t do anything illegal. Turner is watching us like a hawk right now, and he’s not the only one. My credibility is at stake here, my career too and…”

“If you catch the Dutchman your credibility will be stronger than ever! The info I got here,” Dean got something out of his pocket, probably the copy of Rose’s SIM card, “it will help you get her. Rub the smug smile off her face. Isn’t it what you wanted?”

“This isn’t just about me!” Sam hit the surface of his desk with the palm of his hand. “One wrong step, and you’re back in prison! And don’t tell me that I shouldn’t care because I put you there, I know I did, but I still fucking care. Fuck, it killed me to think about you in there.” He paused to catch his breath. “It killed me.”

Dean’s jaw was working, his lips pursed.

“Okay,” he finally said. “I’m sorry. But it’s done, can’t pretend I don’t have what I have. It would be fucking stupid not to use it, don’t you think? I can be your confidential informant. Your ‘source.’” Dean traced the quotation marks in the air with his fingers. 

Sam sighed. “Okay, you’re right, we’ll…”

Someone knocked on his door. Dean and he exchanged a look.

“Come in,” Sam called.

It was Jo. She thrust her head between the door and the doorway and looked from Sam to Dean.

“Sir? Is this a bad time?”

“No, not at all, please come in.”

“I’ll go see who I have to kill for some coffee,” Dean said. He winked at Jo. “Always a pleasure, Agent Harvelle.”

She watched him leave in silence, before she turned to Sam.

“Here’s the information you wanted.” 

She put the file on his desk, started to turn as if to leave, but hesitated, threw another look at Sam and bit her lip.

“Is there a problem?” Sam asked. 

“Well, um.” She joined her fingers together and straightened up. “I have a lot of respect for you, sir, but I’ve been noticing some things that make me concerned and I don’t want to report you to Turner but…”

“Jo,” Sam interrupted her. “What is it?”

“Are you having an affair with Dean Winchester?”

For a moment, Sam couldn’t think of a thing to say. That was miles away from what he had expected to hear coming out of Jo’s mouth. Then the shock subsided a little and Sam burst out laughing. 

“What?” Jo said, flustered. Her cheeks were turning pink. “If anything is going on between you two, your objectivity is compromised and he could be playing you.”

The words sobered Sam immediately. He wasn’t having an affair with Dean, but he couldn’t say that his objectivity was intact when it came to his brother. And as ludicrous as Jo’s assumption had first sounded to him, her observations were spot on and she wasn’t far from the truth. 

“I’m not having an affair with him,” he said. He tried to smile. “I’d never cheat on my wife – she would have me castrated. And even if I cheated on her, and even if I was into men, Dean Winchester would be the last person I would sleep with, believe me.”

She looked at him for a moment and he held her gaze with as much confidence as he could manage. 

“Alright,” she said. “I’m sorry if I offended you. It’s just… you seem to know each other very well.”

“We’ve played cat and mouse for years. This is an unusual premise for a relationship, but we do know each other pretty well. Listen, Jo, I know you don’t like Dean and I can’t blame you. He can be very infuriating.”

She lowered her head, looking very young suddenly, and Sam felt guilty for making her doubt her judgment. 

“I’ll go back to work,” she said in a clipped tone.

The sound of the door closing behind her felt hollow to Sam. He buried his face in his hands, and wondered if his life would ever stop being complicated. 

\---

“How do you know they’re going to attack the bank anyway?”

Sam kept his attention on the screens showing in inside and outside of the bank.

“I have my sources.”

“What sources?”

Sam repressed a sigh of annoyance. He thought himself a patient man – he had to be after growing up with Dean – but Mark Simmons’ questions were starting to seriously get on his nerves. The little man had been wringing his hands for the past half hour and nagging him with repetitive questions. Sam could understand that as the person responsible for security, he was afraid of how one his banks being robbed would reflect on him, but between his whining and Jo’s insistent looks, Sam was beginning to feel like the space in the surveillance van was getting narrower with each passing minute. 

Dean looked mostly amused – what could possibly be amusing in that situation was anyone’s guess – but Andy, who was generally unflappable, was showing signs of discomfort. 

“Agent Wesson?” Simmons called. “Who are your sources?”

“It’s confidential, Mr. Simmons.” He carefully avoided looking in his brother’s direction. “Now if you could…”

He was interrupted by a shrill ringing coming from the inside of the bank.

“That’s the sound-activated alarm!” Simmons exclaimed. “This is impossible, how could they get in without the access codes? We did the changes you advised, we…”

“Mr. Simmons, please be silent,” Sam said through gritted teeth. Then he used the radio to talk to the SWAT team inside. “Talk to me, what’s going on?”

“We can’t see any intruders,” said Agent Henriksen, the leader of the team. “We’re making our way to the vaults.”

The tension in the surveillance van turned up a notch as they all held their breaths and stared at the monitors, trying to catch a sign of the robbers inside. But all Sam could see was the black uniforms of the SWAT team, and the confusion of the bank customers, panicked by the alarm.

“What the fuck?” Sam heard Henriksen exclaim. “Is this a joke? Agent Wesson, we found something but… We’re getting out. You better come and see it.”

“Andy.” Sam jerked his head in the agent’s direction. “Go see what it is.”

He kept his eyes on the monitors, but he couldn’t see anyone else inside the bank besides the customers. How had the robbers gotten inside? Where were they now? 

“Boss?”

“Yes?”

Sam turned. It was Andy, who was standing outside the van by the open back door.

“They found this in a safety deposit box.” 

Andy was holding something in his hand. Sam came closer to have a look, and saw that it was a big alarm clock. 

“So that must be what triggered the alarm,” Dean said, looking over Sam’s shoulder. 

Sam got out of the van and walked to Henriksen, who had taken off his helmet and was glaring at the bank like it had personally insulted him.

“Agent Henriksen? What was the name on the box where you found the clock?”

Henriksen frowned. “Samuel Wesson. Someone is making fun of you, Agent Wesson. I suggest you put an end to it.”

He nodded curtly at Sam, glanced one last time at the building, before walking away to gather the members of his team. Dean nudged Sam’s shoulder. 

“Look who’s over there,” he said.

Sam looked in the direction Dean was pointing, and recognized Bela Talbot’s elegant figure walking a few hundred yards away. She stopped and turned, like she had felt Sam’s eyes on her. From the distance, Sam saw her nod at him.

“That bitch,” Sam murmured.

He felt the weight of his brother’s hand on his shoulder. 

“We’ll get her, Sammy,” Dean whispered. “I promise.”

\---

“C’mon Sam, this isn’t that bad,” Dean said.

Sam shook his head. He was slouched on a chair in his living room, his tie untied, his shirt unbuttoned. Jess was working on her laptop with the TV on a low volume, the way she usually liked to work. She had tried to make him feel better until Dean had arrived and had taken over. 

“She’s playing us,” Sam said. “What was this about? Was it just a joke? Did it have any other purpose than pissing us off?”

“Pissing off the FBI is a worthy purpose on its own,” Dean said. Sam sent him a murderous look. “Sorry. Too early to make jokes?”

“You’ll be allowed to make jokes the minute Bela Talbot is in handcuffs. When we’ll be off the hook. Did I tell you that Jo thinks we’re having an affair?”

Surprisingly, Jess was the one to chuckle.

“Sorry,” she said to Sam’s look. “But you have to admit that this is pretty funny, honey.”

“I laughed too, at first, but then I realized she wasn’t that far from the truth.”

Dean arched an eyebrow and his mouth twisted. 

“Dude, gross.”

“Don’t be an idiot. What I mean is that she’s noticing something between us. We need to tone it down.”

“Guys,” Jess called. 

The strain in her voice caught Sam’s attention and he got out of his chair.

“What is it?”

“Something’s going on.” Jess grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. “Listen.”

“Seems like a total of thirty-six alarms had gone off in banks throughout the city,” the reporter on TV was saying. “According to the FBI…”

“What the hell?” Dean said. “What’s she doing?”

“She’s not going to rob thirty-six banks,” Sam said. “Not even five. Only one. This is another red-herring.” He turned to Dean. “Why is she doing this?”

“The cops must be all over the town, no one knows where he real threat is. Divide and conquer.”

“And what about the business cards? Why send them in the first place? Only to taunt the FBI?”

“What was your first move when you got the cards?” Dean asked.

Sam’s eyes widened. “The security test! That’s it, the security test just revealed all the banks’ weaknesses to her.”

His phone rang before he could say anything else.

“Wesson,” he said.

“Boss, it’s Andy. Are you watching the TV?”

“Yeah, I saw. But it’s a mislead, I’m pretty sure Talbot is going to go after on the initial banks, the ones who got the business cards.”

“But their alarms are silent.”

“That’s exactly the point, I think.”

“What do I do, boss?”

“Call Jo, both of you find me a SWAT team for each of the initial banks. And meet me…” His eyes met Dean’s. “What do you think? Which bank is she going to target?”

Dean frowned, brought his hand to his mouth in a thinking position that was so familiar, from another time, that it made Sam’s heart ache a little.

“The one we thought she was going to attack before. The one with the alarm clock in the safety deposit box.”

“Really? Isn’t it a little obvious?”

Dean snorted. “She’s full of herself, Sammy. She thinks she has the FBI running around the city chasing their own tails. How could she resist this last ‘fuck you,’ robbing the bank we watched uselessly for hours?”

Sam nodded, finally convinced, and barked the address to Andy before he hung up. He grabbed his jacket, went to kiss his wife goodbye. She looked at him with serious eyes. 

“Be careful,” she said. Her eyes flickered to Dean. “Both of you.”

“We will,” Sam said.

\--- 

At the bank, they found Jo, waiting outside her car, leaning against the door with her arms folded across her chest. 

“Andy’s still trying to get those SWAT teams,” she said once Sam was close enough.

Sam looked in the bank’s direction. There was no light inside and despite the glass doors it was difficult to see if anything was going on.

“Anything?” he asked, and Jo shook her head.

“The bank is closed so there’s no customers; I think I saw Mark Simmons inside but that’s it. Are you sure of yourself?”

She shot a look at Dean, like she knew it was his idea and that made the whole thing doubtful. Dean ignored her.

“Simmons has the access codes,” he said to Sam. He grabbed Sam’s elbow. “They need those codes to get into the vaults.”

“Jesus, you’re right.”

Dean’s hand fell from his arm and Sam turned to Jo. 

“Call Andy again, see how those SWAT teams are coming.” He scratched an eyebrow, deep in thought. “We need to figure a way to get inside the bank – the basement was sealed after Dean did his test…”

“Boss!”

Jo’s sharp tone snapped Sam out of his thoughts. She had her phone against her ear but she was looking somewhere over Sam’s shoulder.

“Where’s Dean? Where did he go?”

Sam turned around and she was right – Dean was nowhere in sight.

“Shit! That fucking idiot.”

Frustrated, Sam passed a hand through his hair and let it rest there, digging in his scalp with his fingernails. 

“What?” Jo said. “What do you think he did?” Her brow furrowed. “Do you think he’s in it with Talbot? How could these two even know each other?”

“What? Oh, no. I don’t think Dean and Talbot are working together. I think he’s gone into the bank. Because he’s an idiot and he always has to show off.” _Because he wants to prove himself to me._

“How could he get into the bank? He can’t access it the way he did before.”

“He always has at least two possible routes in mind…” 

Sam’s eyes were traveling over the building, his mind working fast to figure how Dean had done it. The basement was a no go, and all the doors would be secured by the robbers. What else was there? Sam raised his head.

“The roof,” he said. “He went by the roof. I have to go in before that moron gets himself shot.”

“Wait!”

Jo grabbed him by the jacket before he could run across the street to the bank. 

“This is crazy, you should wait the SWAT team before going in there alone with no back up!”

“ _Dean_ is in there, he doesn’t have any weapons and he’s going to get himself _killed_ if I don’t go! I have to… I can’t…” He shut his mouth, afraid of what compromising thing he might say under the influence of emotion.

But it looked like it was too late – Jo let go of him, and said, “You love him, don’t you?”

Surprisingly, her voice was soft and not accusing like Sam would have thought it would be. She looked sad and worried.

“It’s not what you think,” he said. It sounded too much like he was in denial, but he didn’t know how to explain it to her without actually _saying_ it, and he couldn’t. “Jo, it’s really, honestly not what you think. But I can’t tell you…”

She took a deep breath, looking like she was reaching a decision.

“I won’t report you. You’re a good agent, one of the best, and Dean… He’s been helpful and if you think he’s really trying to make amends…”

“Thank you, but I can’t. Maybe later. Please, I have to go.”

She nodded sharply and he didn’t waste any time crossing the street. He ran around the building, looking for roof access until he found a ladder. Climbing it as fast as he could without being too noisy, he had a flash to the army training their dad had submitted them to – crawling on their elbows, running, climbing ropes, all while he was timing them. It was like his dad was breathing down his neck, barking orders, and it had the familiar, nauseating fire of resentment burn anew in Sam’s chest. He ignored it and kept climbing.

When he reached the top, he slowed his movement and just raised his head enough to see what was going on without being seen. His eyes quickly took the scene in – Dean was crouched behind a vent, while a man with a white mask was standing a little further away. As the man moved Sam could see the gun in his hand. Then he turned his head and Sam didn’t duck quickly enough. The man raised his gun.

“Shit, shit.”

The gunshot was loud but Sam didn’t feel any shock or pain so he probably wasn’t shot. He heard some footsteps running across the roof and he reached for his own gun, raised and shot, ducked again. He was ready to shoot one more time, but he heard muffled cry and a commotion, like there was a fight.

“Sammy, you can come in, it’s safe.” 

It was Dean’s voice. Sam climbed the last rungs of the ladder to get to the roof. There he saw that the man with the mask was on the ground, seemingly unconscious.

“Did he have time to warn anyone?” Sam asked.

“No, I don’t think so.” Dean grinned. “Nice timing, bro, I was just trying to figure how I was going to get inside without this dude seeing me.”

“If you had taken the time to tell me what you were going to do, you wouldn’t have had to figure out anything.” Dean opened his mouth, looking genuinely stricken by Sam’s bad mood, which only infuriated Sam more. “No time,” he snapped. “We need to get inside that bank.”

“You’re the boss, boss,” Dean mumbled, but didn’t make any more comment as he followed him. 

\---

The inside of the bank was dark and silent. They made their way quietly – Sam had his gun out, and Dean had reluctantly agreed to stay behind him. When they approached the lobby Sam was quick to flatten himself against the wall to glance inside. On the other side of the door, he could see Dean doing the same.

There was only one man, pacing inside the lobby with a gun in hand, wearing the same white plastic mask as the man on the roof. 

“The others must already be inside the vaults,” Dean whispered. “I need that man’s gun.”

Sam shook his head with force. 

“Why not?” Dean’s voice was still low, but there was a hint of whining in his tone. “You know I know how to use a gun.”

Of course, Sam knew. Their dad had made sure of that, preparing both of them for his insane crusade against all evil. That wasn’t the issue.

“I can’t let you have a gun, Dean. You’re a felon.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not about me, it’s about everyone else. Look, we don’t have the time to…”

The words died in Sam’s throat. The man in the lobby was coming in their direction – with the mask on, it was difficult to say if it was because he had noticed their presence or if it was just part of his surveillance’s tour. Sam’s grip on his gun tightened.

Then the man stopped and turned, looking like he’d seen something outside. He brought a radio to his mouth.

“The FBI is here. There’s a SWAT team outside of the bank. Hurry up.” There was muffled reply. “Got it,” the man said.

His back was still turned to them as he focused on what was going on in the street. Sam thought about the brief conversation he had overheard – the man hadn’t sounded overly concerned, so they must have an exit route planned. Sam didn’t know the layout of the bank as well as his brother did, but he guessed there must have been some kind of backdoor exit to the building; the question was: what were they going to do with Mark Simmons? Speaking of his brother – Sam barely had the time to see Dean raise his arm before he threw something.

“ _What the fuck_?” Sam mouthed.

The noise made the man turn and walk in their general direction again. Sam held his breath and watched the man bend over and pick up the object Dean had thrown – a lighter, from what Sam could see. Before the man had the time to stand up straight again, Dean jumped out of his hiding spot. The fight was brief and effective – Dean was as quick as Sam remembered him from their teenage years. Once the man was down Dean dragged him and sat him propped against a wall. He picked up the man’s gun and grinned at Sam. 

“Can I have it, mom?”

“Dean.”

“No one has to know.”

Sam wanted to argue, but voices were coming closer and there wasn’t time. With a curt gesture, Sam signaled for Dean to hide behind a pillar, and Dean didn’t argue. Sam placed himself behind another pillar and waited. 

“Rogers?”

Probably the man Dean had knocked down. Sam took it as his cue.

“FBI!” he shouted. “Put your guns down!”

Gunshots answered him and Sam retreated behind his pillar. Dean started shooting and there was a cry of pain. 

“Move it! Leave him here!” 

The same rough voice kept barking orders, hurried footsteps resonated. 

“They’re taking the backdoor exit!” Dean shouted, and left the safety of the pillar to run after the robbers.

“Dean, don’t!” 

Cursing under his breath, Sam ran after his brother. Behind him he could hear noises that told him that the SWAT team had entered the bank, probably because of the gunshots, but he didn’t wait for them. 

Sam found Dean standing by the exit, alone. The street was empty and there was no sign of the robbers. Dean turned to Sam, a dejected expression on his face.

“Sammy, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Give me that gun before someone sees it.”

Dean handed it to him without a word, looking more somber than Sam had seen him since their dad had been arrested.

“That’s it,” Dean said. “I’m going back to prison.”

Sam was going to tell him that no, he wasn’t, there was no way Sam would allow that, but the words caught in his throat. He couldn’t make that promise. Maybe he should never have tried. 

“Wesson?”

Sam turned and saw Henriksen walk to them. He looked as unhappy as Sam felt.

“Agent Henriksen, hey. Did you find Simmons?”

“A little man with glasses? He’s in shock, but he doesn’t look hurt. Wesson, what happened here?” He paused to glance at Dean. “And why is Winchester is on the field with you? He’s no FBI.”

“Well the FBI doesn’t seem to have much chance with the Dutchman so I guess it’s time for fresh blood, no?” Dean said, chin up. 

“I don’t see anyone in handcuffs, do I?” Henriksen looked pointedly at Dean. “Only someone who should be, but there’s nothing I can do about it for the moment.”

“Maybe if you’d fucking move a little quicker they wouldn’t…”

“Hey, mind your tone, Winchester. It’s fucking crazy outside, the whole city is on alert, so don’t blame my team.”

Henriksen took a step forward and pressed his forefinger against Dean’s chest. Sam saw Dean’s lips press together in rage – he had to do something before the situation got out of control. 

“Dean, hey.” He pressed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Calm down.”

“Yeah. Sorry,” Dean said to Henriksen, his mouth twisted like the words pained him.

Henriksen had the good sense to step back and get out of Dean’s personal space. 

“This has been a long day for all of us,” he said.

Sam felt Dean relax at the unspoken apology. 

“Yeah,” Sam said. “And it’s not over.”

\---

They came back to the office, and Dean’s low curse told Sam that something was wrong.

“Shit.”

Sam followed his look and through the transparent door of Turner’s office, could see that Bela Talbot was in there, shaking hands with his boss. When she came out she walked passed them and nodded in greeting.

“Agent Wesson, Mr. Winchester. I would love to be able to chat with you but I’m in a hurry.”

In his office, standing by the door, Turned scowled at them and made a short, _come in_ , gesture. Sam swallowed. Dean pointed to himself and mouthed, _me too?_ Turner’s glare became murderous.

“Dean, stop it.” Sam nudged his brother in the ribs. “Let’s just see what Talbot wanted.” 

“This is bad, Wesson,” Turner said after they’d pushed open his office’s door. He went to sit behind his desk. “Bela Talbot is suing us.”

“What? What are the charges?”

“Harassment, defamation. She said you _stole_ her secretary’s phone.”

“That bitch,” Dean murmured. 

Turner’s focus went on him. 

“Winchester, the sole reason you’re standing here in my office and not in a prison cell is because I authorized it. And I authorized it because I thought you could be of some use to us. So watch your goddamn mouth, because you could be back there as quickly as you got out.”

“We were in the right bank!” Dean protested. “The FBI was all over the city chasing their tails but we were right there where the robbers were!”

“And it doesn’t matter because they got away! And now Talbot is on our back and it could cost us millions.”

“Sir,” Sam said,” she’s playing with us, she’s behind the heists and…”

“She has an alibi.”

“Of course she does, she’s smart, she thought of everything. But…”

Turner smashed is fist on his desk.

“There’s no but! There’s no _evidence_! No money, no one to arrest. Wesson, you have very little time to make it right. If you don’t have anything by the end of the week, Winchester is going back to prison, and you’re off the case.”

Dean paled and Sam’s heart skipped a beat. They were so screwed.

\---

“Thank you, Andy,” Sam said, taking the documents Andy handed him.

“No problem, boss.” He twisted his mouth. “Need anything else? Uh, like, coffee or something?”

Sam raised his eyebrows, looked at Andy in surprise. When Andy had been a probie, he had bitched endlessly about coffee duty.

“Do I look that bad?”

Andy shrugged. “You look like you could need some caffeine boost. And Dean, too.” He gave a jerk of the chin to where Dean was staring intently at the TV in Sam’s office, watching the video they had from the robbery.

“I guess coffee would be very appreciated,” Sam said. “Dean will have his black. Thank you, Andy.”

Andy nodded and left the office. Sam went to sit down next to his brother.

“Anything?”

“I don’t know… How much was stolen?”

Sam looked down on the document Andy had brought. “Apparently, $8.2 million.”

“And the brief cases they had, how big?”

“I’d say, sixteen by thirteen, height about four or five inches. Why, what are you thinking?”

Dean pointed at the screen. “The suitcases, look. The bills were all hundreds, right. The packs were a little less than eight inches.”

“So, it wouldn’t work,” Sam said, rubbing his chin. “We’re missing some of the money. The robbers didn’t take it with them but it’s not in the vaults either.”

Dean clapped his hands on his thighs. 

“And I have an idea where it could be. Think about it, Sam. Who knows everything about this bank?”

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Sam said.

Andy entered with two cups of coffee in his hands.

“Here’s your coffee.” He looked at them and there must have been something on their face because he added, “What? What happened? Something on my face?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, and Dean’s face broke in to a smile.

“Something better than that, kid.”

\---

“Thank you for helping us, Mr. Simmons,” Sam said as they walked down the bank’s hallway.

Simmons cleared his throat. “That’s not a problem, Agent Wesson, anything to help you stop those men.”

“How are you doing, by the way? I heard you weren’t hurt but it must have been quite an experience.”

“Oh, yes.” Simmons slid the barred door leading to the deposit boxes room. “I have never been held at gun point. I can’t say it’s an experience I’d like to repeat anytime soon.” He shut the door behind them. “So here we are. Why did you want to check this room? The robbers never came in here.”

“I know that,” Sam said. “I just wanted to check on a deposit box.”

“Oh.” Simmons fumbled with the knot of his tie. “Do you have a warrant, Agent Wesson? Because as much as I want to help you, I can’t let you access one of our customers’ boxes without a warrant.” He glanced at Dean, who had been standing behind Sam, uncharacteristically silent. “I’m not sure what Mr. Winchester is doing here with you. He was only supposed to test the security of the bank.”

“It’s none of your concern, Mr. Simmons. And it’s not actually one of your customers’ boxes I want to see. It’s yours. 125 is under your name, right?”

Simmons started to chuckle, though it sounded more like a nervous cough. He shook his head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why do you want to look in my deposit box? How can that have anything to do with the robbery?”

“Why don’t you open the box and I’ll tell you?

Simmons pushed back his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Fine. I’ll open it. But your superior will be hearing from me, Agent Wesson.” He turned a key in the box marked 125. “I don’t think this is acceptable FBI behavior.”

He took a step back and let Sam open it and draw the box to him. Sam and Dean both looked inside. Dean whistled.

“Fuck me, that’s a lot of money, Simmons.”

“Don’t move,” Simmons said, his voice slightly trembling.

They turned and saw he was pointing a gun at them, holding it tightly with both hands, knuckles white.

“Look at that, Sam,” Dean said, his eyebrows raised in mock surprise. “What an unforeseen turn of events!”

“I know, right? Where do you think he kept the gun? In his pants?”

Dean shook his head slowly and clicked his tongue. “Bad, bad idea, Simmons. You can blow you balls off that way.”

“Shut up, both of you!” Simmons turned his gun to Sam. “Agent Wesson, hands up! Winchester, get the bag behind you and fill it with the money.”

Dean complied without any more smartass comments, for which Sam was grateful because Simmons had his gun on him and looked slightly too trigger-happy for his taste. Dean started to fill the bag.

“So, Simmons,” Sam said once Simmons seemed to be a little calmer. “What happened? I imagine Talbot came to you and offered you a share if you helped her rob the bank?”

“It was more than eight million! And they would have done it anyway, it would have just been more unpleasant for me. I couldn’t refuse.”

“Man has a point, there,” Dean said.

“Shut up!” 

Simmons’ gun turned to Dean briefly, before pointing again to Sam. His eyes were wide and his breathing fast. The man was obviously out of his depth, here, and Sam could probably take him easily; Dean too. But fighting in such a narrow space with a gun and a man who didn’t know how to use it was how you got accidentally shot. They just needed to buy some time.

“Hey, I’m done with the money, man,” Dean said. “What do you want me to do with it?”

“Give it me to me.”

He snatched the bag from Dean’s hands and threw the strap over his shoulder. 

“Don’t move a muscle.”

He started to walk backward, not letting go of his gun and not letting them out of his sight, until his back hit the door. He opened it, slid it close again once he was out. He looked at them through the bars of the door. 

“Stay there.”

Then he lowered his gun, and ran away.

“Well,” Dean said after a few seconds of silence. “That went pretty well, didn’t it?”

Sam huffed. “I could have done without a gun on me but otherwise, yeah, it went okay.”

“Oh, details.” Dean waved a dismissive hand. “This guy was more likely to put holes into himself than into you.”

“I was kinda worried about him putting accidental holes into me. I…”

Dean raised a hand. “Shh. Listen.”

Sam strained to hear and indeed, there were some muffled shouts. No gunshots, though, which was good. Sam didn’t especially want Simmons dead.

“Now we wait,” Sam said. 

They didn’t have to wait long before the footsteps and the voices came closer. Sam pressed himself against the door and shouted through the bars, “Hey, over here!”

“Hey, Agent Wesson.”

It was Henriksen smirking at him, looking somewhat amused by what he was seeing.

“We meet again,” he said. 

“You know what they say,” Sam said. “Third time’s a charm. I take it by your cheerful look that everything went smoothly with Simmons?”

“Yeah, I got to arrest someone this time. I call it a good day.” Henriksen looked at Dean and his smile grew wider. “Those bars look good on you, Winchester.”

“Oh, haha, you’re a riot Henriksen. Are you fucking gonna get us out of here?”

Henriksen looked like he was considering it, and Sam almost laughed at the way Dean gritted his teeth like he was holding back from saying something very insulting. Finally, Henriksen unlocked the door and let them out.

“Thanks,” Sam said.

“Yeah.” Henriksen’s gaze flickered from Sam to Dean. “Good job, guys.”

He patted Sam’s shoulder. It felt a little patronizing to Sam, but he was giddy enough about their success that he didn’t care. All that mattered was the look that would be on Bela Talbot’s face when they went to arrest her. His eyes met Dean’s – his brother was smiling widely, and for the first time since Dean had gotten out of prison, Sam felt that they were exactly on the same wavelength, just like when they were kids. That they were family again.

“Good job, Dean,” he said.

\---

Sam’s heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to break through his ribs, so loud it was muffling every other sound. He was waiting in a visiting room, waiting for his dad to be brought to him, and he wondered one more time if he was right to do this. If he was going to be able to handle it. He had asked himself that for the whole three-hour drive to the hospital, and again during the security procedure to get inside. He still had to cling to every ounce of courage he possessed not to run away. 

He distracted himself first by looking around him. But the naked room painted in white, furnished only with tables and chairs, the guards in the corners, the sight of visitors hunched over to keep their conversations with their loved ones private, only served to make him more depressed. It was like visiting Dean in prison; this room represented everything that was wrong with his life and with his family. So instead, he tried to recall the memory of Bela’s arrest. They had gotten her at her apartment, and for once she hadn’t been ahead of them because she had welcomed them with a smile that was just on this side of smug. She had handled the arrest with dignity, Sam had to give her that, but watching that smile fade had still felt damn satisfying.

“Mr. Wesson?”

It was a guard. He left quickly, and Sam focused on the man who now sat across the table. Sam’s first thought was of how old his father looked. There was gray in his hair and beard, new wrinkles on his face, and he just looked so pale, so… washed out. He was looking at Sam and for a moment it looked like he didn’t recognized him.

Then he said, “Sammy?”

His voice was low and deep, rougher than Sam remembered. 

“Yeah,” Sam said. He didn’t know whether to call him “John” or “Dad,” so he said neither. “Yes, it’s me.”

“He called you Wesson.” 

For a few seconds Sam’s throat was so constricted he couldn’t utter a sound. His dad didn’t look mad or hurt, only distantly curious but it didn’t make Sam feel any less like a horrible person.

“Yeah, it’s.” He cleared his throat, rubbed his forehead. “Ah, it’s my name now, I uh, I had to…”

“Good,” his father said. His voice was getting stronger. “It’s good, you have to lay low, cover your tracks. You shouldn’t have come here.”

“Dean told me you were asking for me.”

“Dean?” His dad’s eyes lost their focus, like he was trying to get to a distant memory. “I haven’t seen Dean in a very long time.”

“Yes, well.” 

Sam was going to tell him that Dean had been in prison, pushed by some obscure need to hurt his father, to show him what their childhood had done to his brother. But the look on his dad’s face was so confused that the thought died almost as soon as it had come. He probably wouldn’t get what Sam was trying to say anyway.

“Dean’s been very busy, lately,” Sam said. “That’s why I came. To see how you were doing.”

“I’m alright.” He looked around the room and leaned forward across the table. “Listen to me, Sammy,” he said, low and urgent.

That didn’t sound good; Sam recognized that gleam in his father’s eyes and it chilled him to the bones. He still bowed his head to listen.

“What?”

“I know what killed your mother.” He lowered his voice even more, until it was barely more than a murmur. “It was a demon. And I know how to kill it.” He raised a hand. “Yes, I know, you can’t kill demons, but there’s this one gun, made by Samuel Colt and it’s supposed to be able to kill anything.”

Sam shook his head with force. “No, John, Dad, please stop it. I don’t want to hear this.”

Sam started to rise, needing to get out of here, but his dad grabbed his wrist.

“Let go off me. John, let me go.” 

He tried to shake off the hand holding him, but his father was surprisingly strong, his grip so tight it was maybe going to leave a bruise. 

“Sammy, please listen to me, it’s important.” His father looked so pleading, Sam stopped struggling almost in spite of himself. “This demon, it’s after you. You need to be careful. Just tell you brother about the gun, okay? Tell him to find it and kill that demon. And be careful, alright? Line the doors and windows with salt and…”

“Okay, Dad,” Sam said, trying to modulate his voice to sound soothing. “I remember how to protect myself from demons. I will do all that.”

“You’ll be careful?”

“I’ll be careful.” Sam rested a hand over where his father was holding him. “Now let go of me, please? That guard is looking at us.”

“Oh, okay.” His dad let go of his wrist, and there was a fleeting smile on his lips. “It was good seeing you, Sam. You got so tall.”

Sam half-smiled. “Yeah. It was good seeing you too, Dad. Bye.”

He was about to turn to leave, but his dad called him, “Sam? Will you be back?”

Sam took a deep breath. “I will, Dad. I promise.”

\---

It was dark when Sam got to Castiel’s apartment. Once again it was Castiel who answered the door, but when Sam asked for his brother he said, “He’s in his room.”

Castiel showed Sam to Dean’s room and left him at the door. Sam knocked.

“Cas? Is dinner ready?”

Sam pushed the door open.

“I’m not the fucking cook,” he said, and grinned.

“Hey, Sammy! What’s up?”

Dean was sprawled on his bed, just like when they were kids, with papers and pencils surrounding him.

“What are you drawing?” Sam asked, walking closer to have a look.

It took him a split of a second to see that it was a naked woman. And just a few more seconds to recognize who it was.

“Is that Bela Talbot?”

“Dude, she’s hot.” Dean pushed himself up. “How did her arrest go, by the way? I’m still bummed that Turner didn’t let me go.”

Sam sat on Dean’s bed. “It went fine, nothing much happened. She’s already called an army of lawyers. She did have a message for you, though.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, it was something like: ‘Tell Dean Winchester I’ll see him in Hell’.”

Dean let out of chuckle. “That’s a bit melodramatic.”

“She probably didn’t appreciate that you helped the FBI catch her.”

“Yeah, I still can’t believe I sold my soul to the FBI.” Sam arched an eyebrow. “No offense, bro.”

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “If you think of working with me as ‘selling your soul’ then maybe you don’t wanna hear what I came to tell you.” 

Sam shifted on the bed like he was about to get up.

“Hey, wait, what?” Dean threw his legs out of the bed so that he sat on the edge. “What did you come to tell me? Did you, uh, did you talk to Turner?”

“Yes, I talked to Turner. He grumbled a lot about some of the initiatives you took during this case.”

“Aw, I know he likes me.” Dean’s tone was light, but his voice was a little strangled. “What else?”

“He said I needed to keep a tighter leash on you, but the arrangement is permanent. You’re officially a consultant for the FBI until the end of your sentence. Congratulations, man.”

“Oh, Jesus fuck.” Dean buried his face in his hands. “Thank you, Sam.”

“You’ll still have your anklet and your two miles radius.”

“Okay, it’s okay, no problem.”

“And you won’t be able to carry a gun.”

“I can live with that.” Dean breathed in deeply and let his hands drop on his lap. “Do I get to have a badge?”

“You’ll get it tomorrow.”

“Hey.” Dean looked thoughtful for a moment, and his mouth curved up. “That’s kinda cool.”

“Yeah.” Dean looked so relieved and happy it was painful. Sam thought of their dad, locked up forever, and the next words escaped him, “I went to see Dad.”

Dean’s head jerked up. “What was that?”

“Yesterday. I drove to the hospital and I visited Dad. I stayed maybe like five minutes but I did it.”

“Okay. And how did that go?”

“I, uh, I don’t know. As good as it could go, I guess.”

“Did he talk to you about the demon?”

“Yeah, he said a demon was after me, and that we needed to get some kind of gun, I don’t know.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Oh, yeah, the Colt. Almost forgot about that.”

“He told you about it too?”

“Oh, yes, that’s all our old man’s thinking about.” Dean scratched an eyebrow and sighed. “Listen, Sam, I know it’s probably hard to understand but this, what he told you, that’s how he shows he loves you. And he’ll never be normal, as much as we can wish he was, and we’ll never have family Christmases or Thanksgivings with him, or whatever normal families do. This is it. This is all we got.”

Sam swallowed. “I know that.”

“Will you go back to visit him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I said I will.”

“I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m sorry I can’t give you more than a crazy father and a brother,” Dean waved to his ankle, “with this.”

Sam forced a smile. “Don’t forget a very hot wife.”

“Yeah, how can I forget that? It means that I have a very hot sister-in-law, which isn’t quite as cool but almost.”

There was a light knock; the door opened and Castiel’s head popped in. 

“Dinner’s ready.”

“Awesome,” Dean said, rubbing his hands together. 

“Sam, do you want to join us?” Castiel asked.

Sam was so surprised by the offer that he couldn’t answer right away.

“Cas is an awesome cook,” Dean said.

“Well in that case. I’ll give Jess a call and tell her not to wait for me.”

“Tell her I said hi.” Dean got up from his bed and walked to the door, but he turned before he reached it. “Hey, Sam. We’re gonna be partners. How cool is that?”

Sam felt himself smile, wide and genuine.

“It’s pretty awesome,” he said.

For the first time in a long time, things felt as simple as that. 

\---

 **Prompts** : _Sam and Dean are in New York City on a case. White Collar or Castle crossover, do not care which one_ , with a side of _Wee!Sam is convinced he's a selkie._ As you can see, I took a lot of liberties with the prompts.


End file.
